


Time Might Separate Us (But I'll Have These Memories in April)

by LiNafied



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Music, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 19:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13418139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiNafied/pseuds/LiNafied
Summary: All Wendy wanted was some peace and quiet and as fate would have it, it was ruined.Ruined.By a pair of shoes.





	Time Might Separate Us (But I'll Have These Memories in April)

_Beep._

 

_Beep._

 

_Beep._

 

Sunlight filtered in through the open window, curtain fluttering lightly in the afternoon breeze. The smell of summer wafted through the room, the light orange floating in between the spaces of white in the hospital room. In the middle of the room, on the bed, a girl laid there quietly, soft breaths exiting through her mouth as she struggled to breathe through the nose tubes.

 

Her hands, pale and thin, bore angry red marks from the IV drip that was currently attached to her wrist.

 

And yet...

 

Her fingers moved rhythmically, an unheard song played on an invisible instrument, deft, professional strokes coaxing out music that only the sun could hear.

 

_Click_.

 

Her head turned towards the door, slightly ajar as two nurses walked in with a cot. They gave her a smile and then softly, quietly, with voices that were barely audible above the music in her head, they spoke.

 

“It’s time.”

 

She nodded, fingers abandoning the invisible instrument as she waited patiently for them to transfer her from the hospital bed to the cot.

 

And then, she closed her eyes, lights flitting behind her eyelids as they rolled her out.

 

*

 

All Wendy wanted was a quiet day at the park, sitting on that one bench she had claimed as hers, underneath that big tree that provide enough shade so that Wendy won’t turn into the colour of cooked lobster by the time she was done transposing the sheet of music she had been paid to.

 

Years spent within dark auditoriums and air conditioned music rooms have trained her body to be receptive of certain temperatures.

 

The blinding sun that came with the effervescent spring was not one of them.

 

But Wendy digressed.

 

All Wendy wanted was some peace and quiet and as fate would have it, it was ruined.

 

Ruined.

 

By a pair of shoes.

 

She glared at the shoes, obnoxiously purple and deceptively innocent as they sat there on the ground as though they didn’t just make Wendy trip and fall face first into the sandbox. The offender in question, the untied white laces, laid in a mess of knots amidst fallen flower petals, obviously hastily abandoned by their owner.

 

Wendy continued to glare at the shoes, even as she stood up to dust the sand off her jeans and out of her hair. The grains scraped against her scalp, giving her an unintentional scrubbing and she groaned, thinking about the amount of time she would have to spend in the shower today as well as the inevitable screeching she would subject herself to when the water turned cold. Shaking her head, she gave the shoes a kick, watching as they rolled over without any resistance.

 

“Stupid shoes.”

 

She kicked them again and moved away, making her way slowly towards the bench that was solely just for her.

 

Before she sighed, turning around to pick up the abandoned, trouble making pair of shoes.

 

(Curse her sense of responsibility.)

 

She looked at them and once again, started speaking to the shoes.

 

“Why are you causing me so much trouble?”

 

The shoes, predictably, did not answer her back, instead choosing to gleam under the sun, the previously muted purple glittering like gold speckles upon a wedding cake. Pulling her face into a ghastly look, Wendy then cast her attention around the park, hoping to catch a glimpse of its wayward owner, letting out an irritated huff when she didn’t spot anyone walking around barefoot.

 

Sighing and resigning herself to a fate of a _not_ peaceful day at the park, Wendy made her way slowly around the park, keeping an eye out for wayward humans who have decided to leave their shoes behind and become one with nature.

 

_Soft chimes_.

 

Wendy paused, her head tilting towards the sound, her ears twitching slightly.

 

(And in the midst of the murk and the vacuum that surrounded her ears-)

 

Music.

 

Transfixed by the sound, Wendy followed it, her head tilting towards the left so she could hear better, the tug at her heart pulling her forwards and towards the music, soft and magical as though a fairy princess had descended on a warm spring day.

 

And there, in the midst of the gently falling petals, pink and yellow whirling around the slide, where kids were standing by and completely hypnotised by-

 

Was that Sadako?!

 

Wendy’s heart jumped straight to her throat when she noticed the figure producing such a pleasant melody, one that seemed to colour the air around her in the spectrum of rainbows, beautiful enough that even wayward kids were completely mesmerised, was actually a freaking horror story.

 

Her heart started to race and her mind told her to - _get the heck out of there, this is how white people die, Wendy_ \- when the figure turned around, black hair cascading past pale shoulders and _oh wow_.

 

If that was Sadako, Wendy can understand how white people died all the time.

 

The sun, in the background, created a weak halo, not even coming close to the ethereal beauty that stood before Wendy. The white dress blended in perfectly with the image of falling flower petals, as though the girl had walked straight out of a painting, a hallucination dreamt up by Wendy after walking in the heat for so long.

 

For only a hallucination can look that beautiful, scare the crap out of Wendy whilst simultaneously coaxing such beautiful music from a simple instrument, a melodica no less, lustrous enough that the world seemed to be laughing and crying at the same time, painting Wendy’s monochrome world a momentary rainbow.

 

She sighed and looked at the girl again, jumping back when she realised the girl on the slide was looking straight at her.

 

Her gaze was so piercing, it made Wendy feel like she was split open, all the softest, saddest, most terrible parts of her laid bare and she scrambled to tear her eyes away, not wanting this complete _stranger_ to see the innermost part of her.

 

The girl stopped playing, her eyes widening at the sight of Wendy and then she shouted, causing everyone around her to jolt out of the beauty induced haze she had them in.

 

“Thief!”

 

Wendy looked around in surprise, wondering where the thief was when her eyes fell to the stranger’s feet-

 

_Oh_.

 

Oh no.

 

She was barefooted.

 

Wendy took a look at the shoes in her hand and cursed at them.

 

“You’re causing trouble again!”

 

“Give me my shoes back, thief!”

 

She looked up just in time to see the girl running at full speed, as though wanting to tackle Wendy.

 

With every bit of intelligence granted to her by the gods, Wendy threw the shoes at the fuming girl and took off, shouting over her shoulder as she did so.

 

“I didn’t take them! I found them!”

 

The girl, like everything that went wrong after Wendy had met with the stupid shoes, did not hear her, instead gaining speed and crashing into Wendy, her melodica thumping Wendy on the head with a solid _thunk_.

 

Christ.

 

All she wanted was some peace.

 

And those stupid shoes ruined it.

 

That was Wendy’s last thought before she started seeing stars.

 

*

 

“Again!!”

 

Her back stiffened at the sound of the raspy shout, fingers poised over the instrument yet again as she flipped the pages back to the first one. She took in a breath and started to play, the song at this point merely muscle memory, all notes and no emotion. She ran through the piece like water in a river, without pause or rest, swerving and moving in time with the untapped beat behind the sound of her heart in her ears.

 

_Cough_.

 

Her head tilted slightly, chin furrowed at the sound of a telltale fit.

 

_Cough_.

 

Her legs moved slightly but she continued the piece, her ears strained and poised for another-

 

_Cough._

 

She abandoned the piece midway, choosing to instead focus her attention on her mother, the frail woman stifling her coughs, wet and sticky, while bracing her body on the wheelchair.

 

“Mother!”

 

A sharp slap resonated across the room.

 

On the musician’s cheek, a red welt formed, the aftermath of the hard slap the sick woman had given to her. She cupped her cheek tenderly and bit her lip hard, willing the tears to stop at the corners of her eyes.

 

(She was somewhat successful.)

 

“Did I say you could stop?! Again! From the top!”

 

She flinched when her mother raised her hand again, meekly going over to her abandoned instrument. She got ready to play again, this time trying hard to ignore the sound of her mother’s cough above the sound of thrumming in her ears.

 

Her fingers moved mechanically and the music started again.

 

(Not once did she notice the sound of her mother’s coughing overlapping the sound of music.)

 

*

 

The silence of the hall rang loud in her ears. The crowd held their breath as a collective, eyes trained on her as she moved to her position.

 

A deep intake of breath.  

 

Her fingers, pale under the fluorescent light that lit the stage, curved with poise.

 

She looked from beneath her eyelashes, watching as the crowd observed her, all waiting for her to start.

 

Her ears fell deaf to the rush of blood, and the music, instead of being lost, was loud with every thrum of her heartbeat.

 

At the back of her mind, behind the notes that danced along with the melody of the piece she had long memorised, in the curves and bends of a memory, the image of the girl who had made it possible for her to stand at this very stage, that girl smiled at her.  

 

And then-

 

*

 

“Why didn’t you just say?!”

 

Irene, Sadako’s actual reincarnate - Wendy is thoroughly convinced - laughed and smacked her in the shoulder, somehow loud despite her soft voice and wheezing breaths.

 

(Wendy was not the only casualty in the saga of the (not) stolen shoes as soon after she was knocked down by a five foot one girl and smacked in the head with a melodica, Irene had collapsed next to her, wheezing and coughing as though she had ran a marathon instead of just a short distance.

 

Just how out of shape was this girl?

 

Wendy shouldn’t judge, considering her own physical prowess but still.)

 

Wendy rubbed her sore shoulder with a pout and murmured dejectedly, the lump on her head throbbing with every word.

 

“I did. You didn’t listen.”

 

Irene laughed again, a soft chime that somehow managed to rival the tune she had churned out earlier and shook her head.

 

“Sorry. I can be quite stubborn and once I get a certain narrative in my head, I just-”

 

She waved her hand in a circle, which Wendy took to mean that she became a bull who chased down anything and everything, despite her lack of stamina. Shaking her head, Wendy glared at the purple shoes laying by Irene’s feet, once again cursing her lack of peace on an inanimate object.

 

“But anyways, it’s really nice to meet you, Wendy! I’ve actually been pretty excited to meet with you!”

 

“What?”

 

Wendy glanced back up at Irene, her eyebrows reaching sky high, causing Irene to laugh at what must be an extremely comical expression on Wendy’s face. The girl smacked Wendy’s shoulder _again_ and spoke quickly.

 

“Don’t play coy! You’re kind of famous, you know! Wendy Son, the child prodigy of the classical world! I’ve been looking forward to the next competition just to hear you play!”

 

Wendy drew back, breaths coming in short as the ocean crashed at the edges of her hearing once again, the rainbow that had coloured her world earlier receding back to black and white. With difficulty, she spoke past clenched teeth, with a tongue that felt more like lead than the gold she should be feeling.

 

“I’m sorry. But I don’t play anymore.”

 

Irene’s smile dropped.

 

“What!?”

 

And then Wendy’s shoulder exploded in pain once again as the melodica collided with it.

 

*

 

“Come on, Wendy!”

 

Wendy jolted from her seat in fright when she realised Irene had somehow managed to hang herself upside down from the rafters just to convince (threaten) her to play again.

 

For some reason, though Wendy was thoroughly convinced that the gods were just being terrible and mean (by the way, superbly hashtag R double zero D _rude_ , thank you, Hermes), Irene was actually enrolled into her school.

 

Which meant the torment that _should_ have ended in the park had somehow turned into haunting her every waking hour.

 

(Sometimes, Wendy just wanted to shout Sadako at Irene just to see how the other girl would react.

 

Her throbbing shoulder reminded her that she shouldn’t.)

 

So far, Wendy has been attacked walking to the toilet, tackled as she was running across the field for her physical education class and most recently, nearly got smacked in the face with a flying kick that would have resulted in her being _very_ dead as it happened on the stairwell.

 

Though _this_ , Irene finally being the Sadako she was meant to be and haunting Wendy upside down with her hair flying in her face, was extremely new and if Wendy had any sense, she would run away screaming right now. However, Wendy’s common sense seemed to have taken an ill timed holiday at the moment and all she could focus on right now was how Irene’s usually pale face was turning suspiciously purple.

 

As though she was suffocating-

 

Her eyes travelled towards the tie that was tangled with Irene’s blazer.

 

Wendy yelped loudly.

 

“Oh my god, get down, you idiot! You’re currently cutting off your oxygen supply!!!”

 

Irene shook her head, her lips turning terrifyingly blue.

 

“Nuh uh! Not until you agree!!!”

 

Wendy stared at her in disbelief.

 

(What even was this girl?)

 

Irene’s lips turned from blue to black and Wendy answered hastily.

 

(It was just her luck to be in the vicinity of someone with a death wish.

 

Today was not the day to be arrested for homicide.

 

Not today, Satan!)

 

“Alright! Okay! Just get down from there, you are going to die!”

 

Irene grinned, looking like literal death and righted herself.

 

Meaning she fell straight onto Wendy like a pile of bricks, leaving Wendy to flounder to catch her and fail, as they both crashed into the ground with their fellow schoolmates looking on as though they were an act in the circus. Face burning red, Wendy got up quickly and tugged Irene along with her, barely giving the wheezing girl any time to recover from their encounter.

 

She led them to the music room and pushed Irene in, the wheezing girl stumbling slightly before righting herself. Crossing her arms, Wendy gave her a stare and pointed towards the bookshelf housing the music sheets.

 

“Pick one. I’ll play.”

 

Irene returned her stare with a look of her own, her breathing finally slowing down to a normal pace. She dusted her skirt off and flitted over to the shelf, calling out over her shoulder as she flicked through the impressive collection.

 

“How’s your sight reading?”

 

Somewhat offended, Wendy opened her mouth to retort, only for Irene to dismiss her own question.

 

“It should be fine, since you’ve been transposing for a part time job.”

 

Wendy’s eyebrows furrowed in the middle, somewhat disconcerted that Irene knew so much about her life.

 

“How did you- Are you a stalker?!”

 

A sheetbook smacked her in the face neatly.

 

“I saw you transposing stuff when I was trying to climb through your classroom window, idiot.”

 

Wendy rubbed at her nose gingerly and pouted.

 

“You didn’t have to hit me...”

 

Irene quirked an eyebrow and lifted the book up.

 

“Something from here.”

 

Wendy took the book and flipped through, her eyes taking in the lines and shapes with a practiced rove.

 

“How about-”

 

“I like March Funebre.”

 

(Why did you even ask me to choose?!)

 

Wendy pasted on a grin and made her way to the instrument, placing the manuscript onto the sheet stand and took her position. She breathed in deeply, well aware of Irene’s probing eyes at the side of her face, the other girl serious in a manner that unsettled Wendy.

 

(It was as though she had turned into a different person.)

 

Brushing the feeling away, Wendy flexed and cracked her knuckles, her eyes darting to the sheet once to refresh her memory on a well loved piece.

 

And she began to play.

 

The music room, once Wendy’s home, currently a place to contend with, filled with beautiful music, talented fingers coaxing out the most exquisite of sounds from a mere instrument. The song weaved and darted through the air, carried on by the well wishes of the artist, hope present with every note. Beside her, Irene had started to sway, eyes slipping shut to fully take in the artistry that was Wendy’s playing.

 

Wendy began to relax, fingers flowing fluidly as she moved on to the second verse, her eyes following the notes easily, moving onto the next stanza.

 

Where she slipped up for the first time, the wrong note ringing out loudly. Frowning again, Wendy pushed the mistake out of her mind, writing it off as she had lacked practice.

 

And then she missed her second note.

 

Her third.

 

And then she realised.

 

Silence had come.

 

Steadily.

 

Slowly.

 

As though she was underwater.

 

Her ears were muted.

 

She could no longer hear the music.

 

Instead, she heard-

 

_Listen, Wendy!_

 

_No._

 

A horrible sound, a terrible sound, broke through her haze, her fingers forming fists and her nails dug into her palms. Shaking her head, Wendy lashed out and knocked the music stand, sheets flying through the air and barely missing Irene. The other girl moved forward, hand outstretched and Wendy pushed it away, snarling through gritted teeth as sweat dripped down her forehead.

 

“I told you! I don’t play anymore! Look at what you did!”

 

Irene looked stricken, a pale comparison to her usual cheery demeanour.

 

“Wendy- I’m-”

 

Wendy pushed her aside, her shoes dirtying the sheetbook and she warned the other girl menacingly, a finger pointed in her face.

 

“I hope you’re happy! Now stay away from me!”

 

She stormed out of the room, hearing nothing but the silent breaking of waves from the ocean that was slowly drowning her.

 

And a soft-

 

_Wendy, I’m sorry_.

 

*

 

_Twang._

 

The harsh note of the instrument sounded through the quiet room as she threw the manuscript across the room. Her chest heaved with the effort that came from playing earlier, fingers clenched into the material of her skirt, script holder on the ground, the aftermath of her tantrum.

 

“Stupid.”

 

She cursed at herself, her weakness, her inability to feel the music and bit on her lip.

 

“It’s just a simple song.”

 

A song she cannot hear.

 

(Can she even play like this?)

 

*

 

She stopped coming around.

 

Wendy noticed it belatedly, missed noticing the presence of the Sadako incarnate amidst her hectic (not really) school hours and her part time job as a transposer.

 

And she only really noticed it because she saw that she kept ducking at random noises, especially at the sound of footsteps running in her general direction.

 

And after that, it was as though the floodgates opened, her world suddenly a little dimmer without the added excitement that was Irene fatally injuring her every time she cajoled her into playing a song.

 

By cajoled, Wendy meant countless hours spent nearly dying of fright whenever the dark haired girl appeared out of nowhere and the attempts on her life whenever Irene started becoming violent.

 

She will never forget the time the other girl tried swinging a chair at her.

 

And till this day, she thanked her lucky stars that Irene was _that_ out of shape, as the other girl wobbled to one side almost immediately after lifting the chair above her head.

 

Actually, scratch that.

 

Maybe it was a good thing that Irene stopped hanging around.

 

Wendy looked around the empty classroom, staring at the stream of sunshine coming in through an open window and tugged at her necktie, feeling slightly suffocated.

 

At the back of her mind, the image of a girl who danced on top of a slide while playing a melodica, eliciting beautiful music from a simple instrument, lingered.

 

At the forefront of her mind, where oceans broke waves on black sand and lapped at nothing, the harsh words from their previous encounter.

 

She tugged at her necktie again.

 

Taking in a deep breath, she tossed her pencil down on the table and stood up abruptly, once again cursing the existence of a pair of purple shoes for her predicament.

 

“I suppose I should apologise for being rude.”

 

With that resolution, she walked out of the room.

 

When not even five minutes later, she was seduced once again by the sound of music.

 

*

 

Her feet moved her towards the music room, her head spinning as though she was in a trance. A song, familiar, light, _home_ , filtered through her ears, filling the empty spaces of her heart with colours, filling the gaps of black and white left behind by a broken song. With each step she took, her chest felt light, without the crushing suffocation she carried with herself each day.

 

( _Healing._

 

That’s the word.)

 

Her hand reached for the doorknob and she turned, walking into the room to a most wonderful sight.

 

Irene was in the middle of the room, the light from the sunset framing her body in a soft glow. Her movements, seemed to dance with the rays, as though a fairy had come to life with each note that resounded from the instrument.

 

In that moment, it seemed as though Irene was manipulating the light with just her music, feelings flowing like a breeze and reaching out to everyone who could hear it.

 

It’s different and light, unlike other classical musicians she’s seen.

 

It was original but with an underlying sadness that made her heart wrench.

 

An in-between.

 

A place Wendy could never reach.

 

Her nails scratched against the wooden surface of the door, the scraping sound pulling her away from the hypnotism that was Irene’s music. She took a breath and tried to shake off the tendrils of negativity that was starting to claw at her, her insecurities pulling at the colours that had her heart racing and-

 

“Wendy? I didn’t see you there!”

 

Wendy blinked, wondering just when did Irene stop playing.

 

(Was it when she was so lost within the constraints of her own making?)

 

The other girl smiled at her, fingers arranging the sheets in a precise manner.

 

“Did you hear me play?”

 

The lump in her throat made it hard to speak, so Wendy settled for a nod, watching as Irene’s smile widened into a grin. The older girl waggled a finger at her before tilting her head to one side, curious eyes observing Wendy who was standing as still as a statue at the doorway.

 

(And forgot all about her original plan of apologising.)

 

“Then why didn’t you join me?”

 

Perhaps it was the resonance of the music from earlier.

 

Or the way Irene’s smile seemed to hide a kiss at the corner of her lips.

 

Whatever it was, it had Wendy answering truthfully, her tongue - usually leaden with weights of her guilt and her insecurities - light with words, her answer escaping past her lips before she could even form a conscious thought.

 

“I can’t play.”

 

She watched as a crinkle formed between Irene’s eyebrows, the other musician making her way towards Wendy and tugging her into the room. She followed easily, knowing from experience that Irene was stubborn and was very willing to use force to get what she want, even though it made her breathless each time.

 

(Irene’s lack of stamina was somewhat ironic, considering just how energetic she got when she was harassing Wendy or playing her songs with great passion.)

 

“Why can’t you play?”

 

Irene sat Wendy down on the piano bench, taking her place next to the younger brunette. Her eyes, previously curious, were now sharp, scanning Wendy with the precision of lasers.

 

It reminded her of when her mother would observe her as she played, sharp and mindful of any mistakes Wendy might make.

 

(The song was fading once more.)

 

Just before the music faded completely, Wendy answered robotically, slipping back into the persona that was easy.

 

(The persona everyone left alone after she stopped playing beautiful music.)

 

“I can’t hear the music anymore.”

 

“What?”

 

Irene’s surprise was nearly lost with the silence of the room, impossible for Wendy to catch if they weren’t sitting so close together.

 

(Detach. Detach.

 

If Wendy detached from her reality then she won’t-)

 

She answered monotonously, keeping her gaze trained on the piano, her mind drowning in the black in front of her.

 

“I lost the ability to hear the music when my mother died.”

 

No.

 

That wasn’t right.

 

_Everything is for you, Wendy._

 

_Then why won’t you listen to me?!_

 

“No, that’s not right... What I meant was music was lost to me, when my mother was lost to me.”

 

(Did she truly have her mother even before her death?

 

No.

 

She can’t be thinking like this.

 

She can’t blame her mother for this.

 

Wendy was the one to blame.)

 

She focused on Irene’s breathing, refusing to meet the other girl’s eyes.

 

“When she died, it’s like a shadow passed over me and took my ability to hear music. Which is why I can never play again.”

 

Without noticing - _no_ \- without her ability to hear the music that was lost, Wendy can never play like Irene.

 

Without forgiveness from her mother, Wendy will never be able to play again.

 

“I’m sorry about your mother, Wendy.”

 

Irene pat her hand lightly, a small gesture of comfort that started a fire of warmth under Wendy’s skin, pulling her away from the shell she made. The younger girl opened her mouth  to reply, a generic, run of the mill comment that she had said one too many times over the course of three years before she closed her mouth with a click, her teeth gnashing together uncomfortably when Irene continued to speak.

 

“But will you always let her shadow hold you back from going for the one thing you love the most?”

 

_No._

 

_I will not forget_.

 

_Wendy, you must never forget_.

 

Wendy instinctively drew away, her need to defend her current self (her reason for her loss of music) overriding any logic that Irene might spew. Her escape was hindered when Irene held onto her hand tightly, hidden strength behind bony fingers, forcing Wendy to face the questions that she had avoided from everyone who wanted her to continue music in the past three years.

 

“Or will you continue to walk towards the future, hard as it may be, a future that your mother had tried to build for you?”

 

_Everything I do is for you, Wendy._

 

_Everything I do now is to secure the future for you._

 

_This is all I have to give you._

 

“No!”

 

Wrenching her hand away, Wendy threw Irene’s arm away with great strength, sending the girl into a stumble. Using this distraction, she made her getaway, screaming over her shoulder whilst she made her way to the door, even as Irene called out to her from the floor.

 

“Wendy-”

 

“You can _never_ understand!”

 

(Irene can never understand.

 

Not when she was the one who threw her mother away.)

 

*

 

Days after the ocean swallowed her, days after silence followed her like a shadow cast by the midday sun, she began to have nightmares.

 

Her mother blurred into the maps of blue and black, of ocean water lapping at her ankles and of sound changing from soothing to screeching, sending her into her waking world with a jolt.

 

Sometimes, she woke with cold sweat.

 

Sometimes, she woke with water in her chest and burning in her lungs.

 

Sometimes, she woke thinking that nothing has changed.

 

That her mother would open the door and look at her with a smile before telling to go for breakfast.

 

Sometimes, she wondered when her nightmares became her reality.

 

*

 

_Beep_.

 

_Beep_.

 

_Beep_.

 

“Miss, I’m going to need you to count backwards from ten, okay?”

 

She looked up at the anaesthetist, taking in his kind brown eyes and soft voice and nodded. An oxygen mask was placed over her mouth and nose and slowly, she counted backwards.

 

Ten.

 

Her eyelids started to droop.

 

Nine.

 

The sounds around her became muted, as though filtered through a vacuum.

 

Eight.

 

The surgeon’s vague silhouette lingered at the corner of her eyes.

 

Seven.

 

_Beep_.

 

Six.

 

A smile at the forefront of her mind.

 

Five-

 

*

 

For days, Irene’s words nagged at her.

 

For days, the ability to grasp at music, to hear them again and _appreciate_ them slipped through her fingers like water in cupped palms.

 

For days, Wendy wondered about the shadow that encompassed her and the future that seemed so bright when her mother first brought it to her.

 

_Wendy! This is your first sheet book!_

 

_Yay!_

 

_What will you have inside?_

 

_Music to make the world smile!_

 

_Good choice! We’ll make it there together!_

 

(Where did that girl go?

 

When did she lose herself?

 

When did she decide that results mattered more than making music that made people happy?)

 

And because of that gnawing battle inside her chest, behind the splintering ribcage and the steady thrum of a bruised heart, Wendy found herself moving forward.

 

Little by little.

 

(With the weight her mother left her still shackled to her ankles.)

 

“I-”

 

Wendy stopped at the doorway, watching the way Irene lowered her hands and staring expectantly at her. There was no indicator that she was upset; furious even at the way Wendy had given up the other day and walked out after her speech, mainly kind brown eyes looking through her and seeing all her insecurities. She fought the urge to hide her face away and took a step through the door, a metaphorical step into the unknown.

 

(To abandon structure and embrace passion.

 

To unlearn what she has been taught.

 

To relearn that girl who wanted music to make people happy.)

 

“I need your help.”

 

Irene folded her hands neatly in front of her, Wendy counting the way her fingers looped together - _one, two, three_ \- and tilted her head to one side, still not saying anything.

 

(Scratch that, maybe Irene was upset.)

 

Floundering, Wendy searched for the words that had escaped her since her temper tantrum, only really finding them when she looked into Irene’s eyes, seeing all the words unspoken but heard with every note that Irene played.

 

_You lost the music you’ve known. But you can always find a new path, a path of music just for you._

 

_You don’t understand._

 

_Don’t I?_

 

“I... I thought about things and you were right. I can’t continue like this, not when I love music like this. But-”

 

She stopped, words pushing at her teeth but not past her lips and she looked away, suddenly feeling like the eyes that spoke of love was suffocating her.

 

At once, the rushing sound of the ocean filled her ears, covering up the sound of music that usually filtered through the school and it had her gasping for air. Her limbs were heavy, as though the weights that was usually adorned on her slumping shoulders moved to the tips of her fingers, numb to all feeling.

 

It was happening all over again.

 

_The music was suffocating her_.

 

“Hey. Calm down for a minute. Take a deep breath.”

 

Cold hands cupped her face, the sudden change in temperature shocking her out of the stupor slightly. It anchored her, pulling her away from the undercurrent of the ocean that was drowning her. The emptiness of sound in her ears gave way to the soft voice, Irene quietly coaxing her out of her panic attack.

 

(Like a light filtering through the dark murk of the water.)

 

By the time Wendy surfaced, they were both on the ground. Surrounding them were sheets of music, the white and black standing out against the red carpeting of the floor. Eyes tearing at the sight of them, Wendy choked out her words, bypassing the flowery words and charm, diving straight into desperation.

 

“Please.”

 

There was a pause and then cold fingers moved from jaw to her cheeks, firmly gripping as Irene brought Wendy’s eyes to meet hers.

 

“You only need to ask and I’ll give it to you.”

 

Wendy nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat and croaked out pathetically.

 

“I need your help.”

 

(Slowly but surely, even though she didn’t think much of it then, the weight on her shoulders were beginning to lighten.

 

A burden shared between two.)

 

*

 

A loud shrieking crash filled the room as the both of them regarded each other with narrowed eyes. Beads of sweat rolled down their foreheads and down past the curve of their cheekbones, pathways similar as the two musicians calmly regarded the other.

 

And then Irene spoke quietly.

 

“Your timing was completely off.”

 

Wendy followed up with an equally soft sentence, though anger could be heard vibrating through the words.

 

“You went off the second verse and did another chord in between the current chords, do you really expected me to follow that?”

 

Irene flicked a piece of paper at her, her voice raising slightly to match the timber of Wendy’s.

 

“You were supposed to be able to adapt to uncertainties and change accordingly.”

 

Wendy caught the sheet with surprising dexterity and crumpled it in her hand, bringing the ball down to her lap where it laid unassuming.

 

“Really? As I recall, you’re supposed to play from the _music sheet_ as provided by the competition organisers.”

 

Shrugging, Irene regarded Wendy with cold eyes, the corner of her lip pulling up into a smirk.

 

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

 

_Snap_.

 

Wendy drew to her full height and she moved closer to Irene, her voice raising into a shout, her words coming out abnormally harsh and grating.

 

“ _Fun_ ?! The competition isn’t _fun_ , it’s elegant! It’s high tiered, it’s class! It’s a place for musicians to show their talents! It is definitely not _fun_!!”

 

She huffed, chest heaving from the effort of expelling the words that were hammered into her head since she started learning music, and glared at Irene. The older girl merely stared back at her, brown eyes behind a flutter of eyelashes quiet and unassuming, like a lake’s surface. She placed a finger on Wendy’s forehead and pushed her away, flicking the skin just as she started to speak.

 

“There. Feel better now that it’s out in the open?”

 

Wendy held her forehead, more to do with the surprise than any actual pain, blinking owlishly at Irene.

 

“I-”

 

She patted her head and then her chest and then-

 

“I feel lighter.”

 

Irene smiled, the corner dropping down into that hidden kiss by the dimple and shook her head.

 

“Always play with your true self. Then the music will guide you. You needed to unload the words taught to you by your mother.”

 

Wendy frowned.

 

“But she made me who I am today.”

 

Irene made her way back to her position slowly.

 

“No, she was the one who introduced music to you. To be who you are with music, that’s for you to decide.”

 

She took her position by her instrument again and looked back at Wendy, the smile with the hidden kiss blooming into a sunflower facing the rays.

 

“So who do you want to be, Wendy?”

 

Taking a deep breath, Wendy shook her head and mirrored Irene’s position, murmuring under breath just loudly enough for the older girl to hear.

 

“Always hitting me with the hard questions. I’ll get an identity crisis one day and it’ll be your fault.”

 

And even softer, away from Irene’s sharp ears, Wendy whispered to herself.

 

“To be a person whose music puts smiles on faces.”

 

(Silently.

 

Slowly.

 

Surely.

 

The first step towards her future.)

 

*

 

“Here. As thank you. For the week of help.”

 

Wendy smacked the red bean ice cream bar on Irene’s face, giggling when the other girl pulled away with a shriek and a glare. She sat down by the brunette, legs hanging off the side of the slide. Behind them, the sun began to set and with its disappearance, the night time street lamps slowly flickered on. Beside her, Irene seemed to take on an ethereal glow, the girl slowly unwrapping her ice cream and eating it.

 

“What a cheap way of saying thank you.”

 

“I’m a poor student, what did you expect?”

 

They ate their treats in silence, Wendy forcing her eyes away from Irene or she will just kept staring.

 

(And get caught.

 

And teased.

 

And possibly punched for being a pervert.

 

She had enough of that when Irene thought she was stealing the other girl’s shoes, thank you very much.)

 

“Do you ever think of the future?”

 

Her own cone stopped its path towards her mouth, Wendy slowly turning towards an unusually sombre Irene.

 

“What?”

 

Irene lowered her hand, the ice cream dripping down the side of the slide. She paid no attention to the disappearing treat, instead choosing to look up to the night sky, where dozens of stars were starting to show. Irene smiled at the sight of them, shaking her head even as Wendy noticed that her smile was wrong.

 

(Like someone put it on the wrong way.)

 

“The future. Like what will happen, ten, twenty years from now?”

 

Wendy paused, finishing her own ice cream before dropping her hand to the side, mirroring Irene’s position.

 

“Well... before this... I never looked beyond graduating and becoming a white collar worker. Music seemed like such an impossible task for me when I couldn’t hear it so I just abandoned it.”

 

“And now?”

 

Irene had dumped her disappearing dessert onto the ground, Wendy swallowing the lecture about littering to give way to words that now meant hope for her.

 

“Now, with your help, I can slowly... maybe...get back to music again. And maybe even make music.”

 

Irene smiled, this time the right one.

 

“That’s good to hear. Better than the doomsday speech you had going on in the beginning when we first met.”

 

They both laughed, a freeing gesture Wendy never thought she’d be able to make again. She took a deep breath and glanced over to Irene, watching how Irene cupped her fingers around her mouth to blow on it, the slightly cold weather of a March night affecting her slightly. Making a snap decision, Wendy pulled off her blazer and placed it around Irene’s shoulders, offering a few brisk words to mask the sudden embarrassment that bubbled in her chest.

 

“Here. Take it.”

 

Irene laughed and pulled the jacket close, shaking her head at the sight of Wendy’s red face.

 

“Thank you, princess charming.”

 

And in that moment, even though Irene was shivering from the cold, Wendy found that Irene was beautiful.

 

Not just her facial features or even the way she carried herself with such elegance.

 

No.

 

It was the colours.

 

The way the colours came with the wind of change, the very essence of sunlight and it poured colour into her, filling the previously black and white slots with meaning.

 

Even as Wendy watched Irene’s side profile in muted wonder, as the colour she had previously seen and ignored, seep from within the girl and into Wendy like a silent prayer, a salvation that poured through her veins and lessened the crawling guilt that scratched the sides of her ribcage.

 

Subtle, fleeting and yet its effect was imminent, painting the world that Wendy had immersed in black and white with choices she didn’t even know she had, not after her mother had died.

 

The way the colours showed that slowly, surely, Wendy’s sole inspiration in music, her sole inspiration _back_ into music, was now Irene.

 

That this pigheaded girl was the reason.

 

Wendy’s reason for moving forward.

 

She coughed loudly at the realisation, sending Irene into a jump due to shock. The older girl glared at her incredulously, her fingers fumbling to open the offered blazer.

 

“Are you getting a cold? Come here, you idiot! Trying to act all suave and getting a cold!”

 

She forcibly pulled the blazer around Wendy’s shoulders, stretching out the material badly. They huddled together, the warmth sticking to her skin finally clueing Wendy in as to how cold she was.

 

(And didn’t notice.

 

It hasn’t even been 2 minutes of her realisation and she was already whipped.)

 

Trying to salvage her already ruined image, Wendy cast her mind around for a topic, finally going back to the original topic that Irene had brought up.

 

“What about you? What do you have planned for the future?”

 

Irene smiled again, this time slightly off, slightly stilted but it was still the smile that breathed colours into Wendy’s monochrome life.

 

(So she didn’t question it.)

 

“Who knows? I’ll just go with the flow.”

 

Wendy shook her head, wondering just how carefree this girl was, be it her way of playing or her outlook of the future.

 

(But looking back, it could have been nothing.

 

Irene didn’t answer Wendy’s question at all.)

 

*

 

“Taxi!”

 

She waved her hand frantically, hoping against hope that one of those yellow cabs will stop for her in the midst of rush hour traffic. At the back of her mind, the silent ticking of the clock echoed, a subtle _tick tick tick_ reminding her just how much time she had wasted.

 

(How much time she might have left.)

 

A true miracle, one stopped in front of her, splashing rain water on her already soaked heels and muddying the hem of her dress. Ignoring the mess, she opened the door quickly and got in, her voice raising to an almost shout as she told the driver the address with a plea tacked on the back.

 

“And please! Hurry!”

 

Her desperation, anxiousness, must have been painted on her face in bright neon colours because all the man did was nod seriously before telling her to buckle in. The moment her seatbelt clicked into place, they were off, faster than what would be safe in this torrential downpour. They skidded around corners while she held onto her seat and shot past yellow lights about to turn red.

 

It was when the place she needed to be came up in view that she let out a breath.

 

(Relief?

 

Fear?

 

She doesn’t really know.

 

All she knew was that she was going to make it.)

 

The man spoke gruffly, a small smile on his bearded lips.

 

“We’re going to make it, kid.”

 

She nodded, opened her mouth to thank this stranger who was as invested in this as she was and then-

 

All she remembered were the loud honking and the sound of tires skidding.

 

*

 

_Beep._

 

_Beep._

 

_Beep._

 

“Scalpel.”

 

_Beep._

 

_Beep._

 

_Beep._

 

“Shit, there’s a bleeder, call the blood bank, O neg stat!”

 

A quick shuffle across the floor.

 

The silent _whoosh_ of the operating theatre’s door.

 

“Clamp!”

 

_Clang!_

 

_Beep._

 

_Beep._

 

_Beep._

 

*

 

Irene looked at her with a wide smile, eyes shining with unshed tears as she cupped her mouth with her hands. Somewhat apprehensive, Wendy started to edge away, her survival instincts taking over and just in time, she ducked under Irene’s swinging arm, the other girl laughing happily and exclaiming with all her might.

 

“We did it!!!”

 

Wendy avoided yet another swinging arm but couldn’t quite escape the sudden death grip Irene had on her. She made a weird noise when her ribcage was constricted, her arms somehow mistakenly wrapping Irene in a hug-

 

Oh.

 

It was a hug.

 

Not a sudden strangulation.

 

Right.

 

Wendy pat Irene’s back gingerly, resigning herself to a more comfortable position as it seemed that Irene wasn’t letting go anytime soon. Irene laughed, a quiet sound just by her ear and the other girl murmured softly, each word felt rather than heard, a result of their current closeness.

 

“I knew you could do it.”

 

Six simple words spoken in complete confidence.

 

It was enough to give Wendy wings to soar.

 

In the circle of Irene’s arms that felt like the world was protecting her, alongside eyes that saw right into the softest, saddest parts of her and still could tell her that she could _do_ things she only dreamt of-

 

Well, it was a place Wendy could stay forever in.

 

She was just about to get comfortable in her new _permanent_ position when Irene dropped a bomb on her, causing her to reel away in panic.

 

“Let’s do the duet category together!”

 

Wendy looked at the girl with wide eyes, the previous warm and fuzzy feeling replaced by incredulity.

 

“What?! No way!”

 

_Smack_!

 

*

 

“You know, for a couple of weeks, you haven’t smacked me,I thought we moved past that place in our relationship.”

 

Irene eyed her while she nursed Wendy’s stinging face, the direct result of the book hitting it. Chuckling nervously, Wendy kept quiet, fearing that she might just invited herself to another beating. Luckily, be it Irene’s benevolence or some blessing from the gods, she merely let the comment pass, dabbing the cold cloth onto reddened skin quietly.

 

Wendy watched her carefully, taking in the side profile that had to be crafted by Leonardo Da Vinci himself and found her mouth betraying her brain.

 

“Let’s join the duet category.”

 

Irene blinked, surprised before a wide smile took over her face, eyes lighting up like the many stars in the sky had converged behind them.

 

“Really? Thank you!”

 

She threw her arms around Wendy’s neck and hugged her tight, warm breath against her neck. Wendy shivered at the sensation before resigning herself to being whipped.

 

(It won’t be so bad, right?)

 

*

 

Scratch that.

 

It was terrible.

 

Terrifying.

 

Horrifying.

 

Electrifying.

 

(GREASED LIGHTNING!

 

The heck, brain!?)

 

“Hey, you doing alright?”

 

Fingers slid up her forearm gently, cool to the touch and soothing her out of her panic induced haze caused by the sight of people filling up the theatre seats. She shook her head, unable to trust herself from throwing up instead of speaking like a normal human before turning away from the crowd. Irene tilted her head to one side, bangs falling into her eyes as the other musician regarded her carefully.

 

Her fingers continued to draw pathways up and down Wendy’s arm, calming her frayed nerves and she listened intently to Irene’s voice, soft and quiet, unlike all those times during practices.

 

(Which was the real Irene, she wondered?

 

Sadako’s reincarnation?

 

Or the melancholic musician who played like the world had to cry for her?)

 

“It’s okay. It’s not a competition for us. It’s just a stage. It’s just us, in the music room. Playing for ourselves. Playing for you.”

 

Wendy nodded, allowing herself to be hypnotised by Irene’s voice, music in its own right and a thousand times more potent than any song Wendy had taken into her heart.

 

(Her new favourite.)

 

They stayed in their corner, a bubble of their own world, without a care for the others who were whispering behind their hands about the sudden reappearance of the genius soloist who had all but disappeared from the industry all those years ago. Wendy heard none of this, only the soothing timbre of Irene’s words, her focus only on the fingertips that could coax angels’ voices from mere instruments.

 

And before she knew it, it was their turn.

 

Irene’s fingers slid down and they grasped hands, fingers intertwining as though it was natural, palms fitting together like two puzzles and they walked up on stage, bright spotlights beaming down on the two instruments placed in the centre.

 

Wendy could feel her muscles freezing up, her steps slow and unsure, like a prisoner walking up to the guillotine. If it weren’t for Irene’s presence beside her, Wendy was sure she would have ran by now, desperate to get away from the last place she had broken down publicly.

 

But Irene was beside her, and more than anything, more than proving to herself that she _can_ be a musician without her mother’s influence, she wanted to prove to Irene she could.

 

It was the only way she knew how to thank Irene for everything she had done, whether the other girl knew it or not.

 

So she forced down the bile threatening to make its way up her throat and went to her place, Irene’s touch lingering long after they had parted to their respective position. The brunette smiled at her before looking out to the audience, silent as always, faces swimming together into a pool of darkness.

 

Wendy breathed in deeply and eyed the music sheet in front of her, though she didn’t need it, and tried to let the notes anchor her to her present.

 

In tandem, they began to play.

 

Without even a prompt, Wendy knew she was offbeat, making minor, _beginner_ mistakes that a musician of her calibre should never make in a competition. Slowly, the ocean followed her, silence taking over the music like a shadow cast by the midday sun.

 

In the midst of monochrome, she heard coughing, her mother’s harsh voice cutting through the blue and black that was filling her vision-

 

_Is this all you can do?_

 

_I taught you better_.

 

Wendy tried to breathe and found that she couldn’t, lost in the midst of an ocean of her own making and-

 

_Listen to me, Wendy_.

 

A drop of colour in the sea of black.

 

She turned her head towards it and saw nothing but a burst of bright purple.

 

And with it, Irene’s song.

 

A song that somehow managed to reach the heavens and down into the pit of despair, cold but soothing fingers coaxing Wendy through her darkness.

 

And like a vacuum, everything fell away suddenly and all Wendy could see now was the music sheet in front of her and Irene playing by her.

 

And then-

 

Wendy began to play, in tandem with Irene, passion matching with precision, sadness intertwined happiness and slowly, the mess that was their duet held together merely by Irene became a masterpiece, a _genesis_ , an offering for the gods and humans alike.

 

And all too soon, it ended, with the applause from the audience following the composition fit only for the heavens. Wendy stood by Irene and bowed, hands finding their way together yet again, fitting together like puzzle pieces.

 

Irene turned to her with glittering eyes and a smile so bright, Wendy swore she could see rainbows.

 

And right there, without even knowing if they made it through for the next round, it felt like she had won.

 

*

 

“Isn’t it such a great day?”

 

Irene ran forward excitedly, her eyes taking in the sight of the amusement park Wendy had brought her to as a thank you present. Wendy chuckled at her, taking in the pair of animal ears she had bought, insistent that they both wore the same kind to _match_ on their day out. While the giraffe ears did not look good on Wendy (in her very superior opinion) it fit Irene like a glove, a half fae coming out from her hiding place to grace the mere mortals with her presence.

 

Without saying anything, Wendy took out her phone and snapped a picture of Irene, one of the many she had taken today, to save and look through another day.

 

(A day when she can be honest and say-

 

Yes.

 

This is the girl I’m in love with.)

 

But not today.

 

Today she will admire Irene from afar and take creep photos.

 

And not say anything about loving Irene.

 

(Her mind goes to her room where a manuscript sat on top of her desk, an original music piece she had worked on since Irene brought music back into her life.

 

She thought of how it was unfinished, how the music has yet to reach its peak and how when it was done, that would be the day she will tell Irene she loves her.)

 

“Wendy! Come on! We have to go there!”

 

Irene ran back towards her and grabbed her arm, tugging her along to some attraction she had apparently caught sight of. Laughing, Wendy went along easily, swept up in the excitement and happiness that was Irene.

 

She was so wrapped up in everything that was coloured Irene that she had failed to notice the light sheen of sweat spotting on Irene’s brow.

 

Or how the other girl’s breaths were coming in shallower and shallower.

 

Until-

 

The brunette crumpled to the floor, one hand clutching at her chest and the other tight around Wendy’s. Panicked, Wendy called out to the other patrons around her, her free arm flailing about, unsure what to do.

 

“Somebody! Help!”

 

A park attendant rushed up to them and assured that help was on the way and to remain calm.

 

But all Wendy could hear was the sudden rushing of waves in her ears.

 

*

 

A heart condition.

 

Severe heart condition.

 

That required surgery.

 

Wendy had always heard of the saying “the world crashes down around her” but for the first time in her life, she understood what it meant. Right now, around her, the world she had painstakingly woven to the music that had been brought back into her life, was crumbling, akin to Rome falling. Brick by brick, ashes to ashes, until there was nothing but dust around her.

 

She watched as Irene’s mother pushed hair away from her sleeping daughter’s face, watched as the usually larger than life girl looked small and despondent in the white hospital bed. She watched as Irene’s chest rose and fell sporadically, as though each breath required mammoth effort and wanted nothing more than to crawl inside to help Irene’s failing heart to continue beating to the beat Irene played but could never follow.

 

She watched until she couldn’t watch anymore and she turned away, welcoming the dark ocean once again.

 

And she walked away from Irene, each step taking her further and further away from the girl who breathed colour in her otherwise monochrome life.

 

(And she thought.

 

Why does everyone she loves leave?)

 

*

 

Irene called her after Wendy started avoiding her, a soft thrill of her cellphone that ended the week long silence that Wendy had imposed onto herself after finding out.

 

She contemplated picking up.

 

Contemplated letting it run to voicemail.

 

But in the end, she swiped right, picking up the call and not saying a word.

 

(She didn’t know what to say.)

 

“Hello? Wendy?”

 

Irene spoke softly, slowly.

 

“Are you there?”

 

Wendy kept quiet, listening to the breathing on the other line. Irene sighed quietly and chuckled.

 

“It’s okay if- I’ll do the talking for us.”

 

Wendy pressed the phone closer to her ears, wanting nothing more than to drown in Irene’s voice.

 

(Why had she never noticed just how weak Irene sounded sometimes?

 

Had she always written off her quiet voice as a mere persona?)

 

“I know you’re mad at me. You have every right to be. I was being- well, I was pushing you to face your demons and running away from mine.”

 

_That’s not why_.

 

“But I just wanted to- If I went for the surgery, if it _failed_ \- I’ll never be able to hear your music ever again.”

 

Irene laughed again, a sad sound that cracked at the end.

 

“It’s odd, isn’t it? I wanted so much for you to play again, just so if it was a world without me, it would at least be a world with you.”

 

Wendy pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.

 

“So please. Please play again. Please play next week at the solo category. Become the Wendy you dreamt to be. And I’ll-”

 

Irene cut herself off, a garbled sound that was far away from the speaker, a quiet sob that had Wendy’s heart aching.

 

“While you play, the music you can make, maybe the gods will grant me a second chance at life.”

 

She fell silent, letting the words sink in for Wendy.

 

And then-

 

“Maybe the gods will grant me a chance to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

 

Wendy opened her mouth to speak but Irene had hung up by then, the symphony of tears the last thing she heard.

 

(Would it be the last thing she heard?)

 

Wendy looked at her phone and then glanced over to the mess of sheets on her table, notes littering the lines on paper and the name she had written on top of the manuscript.

 

And she made a decision.

 

*

 

“Someone call an ambulance!”

 

“Quick! On three!”

 

“My daughter! Where is she?!”

 

“Sir, I’m sorry but your daughter-”

 

“No! Do something!”

 

“We’re doing everything we can but it seems like-”

 

“If she’s not awake, then you’re not doing everything!”

 

*

 

Her fingers flew across the keys akin to Mozart and his first beloved piece. With each note, Wendy poured her soul into it, making sure each and every tune that the piano churned out was her best, _is_ her best.

 

This was her message to the heavens, an offering of her heart on a platter.

 

A prayer.

 

A wish for salvation.

 

Wendy played each note with heart, with _feeling_ , like how Irene had taught her. It came easily, now that she understood how Irene can always play as though Rome had found its holy place.

 

Rome took place in her heart now, brought in by the ocean which lapped at her wounded heart, buried deep within the chambers and the salt of its tears stung at the soils of her body with each plea Wendy made to the heavens.

 

_Please._

 

_Please._

 

_Let her come back to me._

 

_Please_.

 

She hit the board forcefully, the sharp _twang_ resonating through the mesmerised crowd, mouths hanging open as though they were witnessing the birth of a new era, a genesis amongst prodigies.

 

(Wendy cried, throat raw, soul inside out, until all she knew was salty and pain and still she did not know how to explain to anyone that this, _all of her now_ , was brought on by Irene.

 

Her catalyst.

 

Her Big Bang.

 

Her salvation.)

 

On her wrist, her watch continued to tick, a steady beat against her prayer to the gods, _any_ god.

 

A soft reminder.

 

_This is not where you should be._

 

(And just like before, with her mother, history repeated itself.)

 

“Doctor, it seems like an odd question now, but would it be too late to change the donor sample?”

 

A gloved hand lowered slightly and the surgeon eyed the young nurse standing nervously by the OT side door.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

The nurse shuffled her feet.

 

“A hit and run victim just came in and was proclaimed brain dead. Her heart - it’s more compatible. The donor clinic wants to know if you-”

 

The surgeon pointed a bloodied hand at her.

 

“Stop asking stupid questions and complete the paperwork! We are here to save lives, not second guess ourselves!”

 

The nurse jolted and scurried out the room.

 

“Yes, sir!”

 

*

 

“Sir, I need you to sign off on this. For the donor.”

 

The man looked at the clipboard and then the pen, and with great effort lifted his hand to sign it.

 

“Just- just make sure-”

 

He broke down in tears, face buried into his hands. The attending moved away, giving the grieving father his space, as he prayed for his dead daughter.

 

A couple of seats from him, a mother had her hands clasped together in a prayer, for a daughter that was dying, for a daughter who could still live.

 

*

 

_Beep._

 

_Thump._

 

_Beep._

 

_Thump._

 

Irene’s eyes fluttered open.

 

The first thing she saw was the white of the ceiling.

 

The next was her father.

 

And then she registered the thumping of her heart.

 

Her _new_ heart.

 

She looked to her father, expecting to see a wide smile on his face but only saw tears and heartache.

 

She turned to her mother, her rock in the storms and saw the same thing.

 

She frowned, pressing her hand to her heart and wondered if something was wrong.

 

Irene continued to watch her parents flounder while she felt her heartbeat under her hand and then-

 

She froze.

 

Her fingers gripped at the hospital gown and she looked desperately at her father.

 

_Thump_.

 

“Sweetheart, we-”

 

_Thump_.

 

This was not possible.

 

Wendy was playing.

 

At the auditorium.

 

Her first solo competition in ages.

 

_Thump_.

 

“She was coming to see you-”

 

Wendy said she would go.

 

She would have went.

 

“The taxi skidded to avoid a lorry-”

 

_Thump_.

 

“-Brain dead on arrival.”

 

This can’t be-

 

“She was an organ donor. So they checked-”

 

_No_.

 

“And she was a good match, better than the one they originally had in mind-”

 

_Thump_.

 

_Wendy_.

 

“-Raised your chances to about ninety percent-”

 

Her mouth cracked open, her voice hoarse from lack of use.

 

“No- Wendy- She can’t be-”

 

Her mother crossed the room immediately and hugged her tight, her tears rolling down her face even as her daughter started to scream, arms flailing as she tried to reject reality.

 

“No!! We were supposed to play together! We were supposed to-”

 

Her words gave way to shrill shouts, jumbled and messy, loud enough to summon the medical personnel into her room with a cart, ready to calm her down.

 

She fought them all, fought them with heartbreak at her fingertips and blood on her hands, fought the gift that Wendy had given to her on a platter.

 

Inside, behind the carcass of her broken Rome, Wendy lived on.

 

_Thump._

 

_Thump._

 

_Thump._

 

*

 

“She wanted you to have this.”

 

Wendy’s father passed her a book, a manuscript to be exact, with Wendy’s messy handwriting littering the corners.

 

At the top, her name was adorned with hearts.

 

Irene took the sheetbook and hugged it tight to her chest, Wendy’s song meeting with her heartbeat.

 

(And inside, the remains of Rome was still crumbling.)

 

*

 

-Irene placed her bow on her violin and pulled, the first mournful note crying out to the crowd that were looking on eagerly.

 

_Genius._

 

_Amazing._

 

_How does she incite such emotions?_

 

Questions in hopes for an answer.

 

Irene ignored it all.

 

(Kept her answer deep inside the Rome buried in her heart, remains dusted over by salt and sand, never to be seen again.)

 

Her fingers pressed against the strings neatly, her technique flawless, her emotions a whirl of colours in the darkened, monochrome room, a small rainbow peeking after a bout of storm.

 

In front of her eyes, just like all the times she played this particular piece, Wendy stood in front of her, a soft smile on her face, with eyes that spoke of love and sadness. This Wendy was painted red, proud, _alive_ , even for just five minutes, a gentle reminder of what she carried with her.

 

Behind the carcass of her own Rome, Wendy thrummed in time with the music, a constant reminder of love and _forever_ , even if it wasn’t the way they had meant for it to be.

 

In front of her was laid Wendy’s original piano piece, the only other part of Wendy she would ever get to have laying innocently on the sheet stand, with her quirky handwriting dotting and crossing the page alongside her own neat handwriting, a piano piece reimagined for violin.

 

Their genesis.

 

Their beginning.

 

Their ending.

 

And she played.

 

With every note, with each breath she took and the thrum of a heart anew.

 

With salt on her lips and tears on her face, she played.

 

Irene played as though Rome had shattered in her heart and hoped that it will reach Wendy in heaven.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A big shoutout to Weirdlatte who helped me through this fic as well as gave me a lot of amazing input!
> 
> Inspired by a music based anime, Your Lie In April.


End file.
